


Setting Marbles On Fire: Grantaire's Guide to Impressing Guys

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Locked In, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: Today's moral is: magic is useless if you're locked in.That said, it can help with the cute guy you're locked in with.





	Setting Marbles On Fire: Grantaire's Guide to Impressing Guys

Mondetour House is never locked this late. Grantaire’s been here plenty of times; security tend to come round at about half ten. It’s only quarter to now, but the door won’t budge however much he tugs it. He tries all the usual stuff – jiggling the handle, unlocking charms, but it won’t move. It’s not surprising; campus security are well used to guarding against student magic. As a policy it makes sense, but it’s still a pain in the arse.

There’s another door at the end of this wing. He turns around and starts walking, taking his phone out of his pocket to text Éponine: _“might be locked in mondetour. pray 4 me”._

There’s not even much in this part of the building; just the common area and a couple of meeting rooms. He’s been chilling in one of those all evening; it’s a good practice space. Normally security comes past to check they’re all empty before locking up. They’re usually pretty nice – given that they can definitely tell what he’s doing, and don’t rat him out to the administration. Tonight, though, they haven’t bothered.

The other door is locked, too. He stares at it for a moment. He hadn’t been hugely hopeful, but it did mean he got to put off figuring out what to do. There’s the immediate calamity of being locked in, but the real tragedy that’s coming to mind is the leftover lasagna he was going to have for dinner. Ep made it the other night - and while most of her cooking should be treated with caution and sometimes biohazard gloves - this actually wasn’t bad.

Her reply arrives: _“wtf? can u call security or something?”_

 _“they’ve already gone”_ he texts back. _“its a “safe” uni rmr? they don’t need 24hr staff”_

 _“rip”_ she sends.

Phone in hand, he walks back to the common room. There’s a vending machine, he might be able to get something if he’s got the right change. Failing that, he could always curl up on one of the sofas and get some sleep. God knows he could use it.

Except when he returns, there’s someone else in the common room. A tall and good-looking somebody, who’s rattling the locked door and letting loose a chain of expletives that entirely charms Grantaire.

‘I’ve already tried it,’ he says. ‘We’re not getting out that easy.’

The guy jumps at the sound of his voice, and turns. Grantaire doesn’t use the word _beautiful_ lightly, but this dude is it. Like, probably-sculpted-by-angels beautiful.

‘I didn’t realise there was anyone else here,’ he says, his eyes coming to rest on Grantaire’s face. It’s kind of intense.

‘Me neither.’ Grantaire’s suddenly very conscious of the fact that there’s paint on his jumper and his hair is in serious need of a wash. Which is kind of unfair, because he never usually gives a shit about his appearance.

‘It’s not even ten yet. Don’t they realise there are students still around?’

Grantaire shrugs. ‘Doesn’t seem like they care a whole lot.’

The guy sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. It’s blond, contrasting against his warm brown skin. Grantaire can’t tell if it’s natural or not. It wouldn’t really matter if it is, this dude is the definition of the phrase _impossibly good-looking._

‘What d’you reckon we can do, then?’ the guy asks. His gaze is intensifying, as though he’s going to find the answer written in Grantaire’s three-day-old stubble.

Grantaire shrugs. ‘Break a window? Camp out?’

‘Can you do magic? We could – ’

‘Doesn’t work on campus buildings. Trust me I’ve tried.’

The guy furrows his brow. ‘Even windows?’

‘Especially windows.’

‘Oh. OK.’

‘I’m Grantaire,’ Grantaire says, because he might still be mourning his lasagna but that doesn’t mean he can’t make the most of a situation. And as nearly all the situations in his life are bad ones, he’s quite used to it.

‘Enjolras,’ the guy says. ‘You study magic?’

‘Yeah. The only things I’m good at are that and art, and neither of them are going to get me employed so I might as well have fun.’

Enjolras frowns again.

‘Shit, are you an arts student?’

‘No. I do PPE. I just don’t think that’s true. I mean yes, the arts are vastly underfunded, but magic careers – ’

‘- are all like, theatre or security,’ Grantaire finishes. ‘Trust me, I’ve read the pamphlets. Very motivational. You too could be a primary school nurse!’

His phone vibrates. It’s another text from Éponine. _“I can probs pick the locks if ur actually stuck, give me like 30 mins”_. He pauses a moment before replying. Great as a way out (and his lasagna) would be, Enjolras is hot in the way that people in real life rarely are. Especially not people in real life who would talk to Grantaire.

‘I’m going to talk to the student union about this,’ Enjolras says, folding his arms. ‘We could be in danger; what if one of us had a medical emergency?’

On second thoughts, Grantaire composes a quick _“that would be excellent”_ and sends it before he can think too hard.

‘My housemate can get us out,’ he says. ‘But it will be a while.’

‘She’s going to find security?’

‘Well she said she was going to pick the locks, so I think that’s her line of approach.’

Enjolras looks at him for another minute, and then heads over to one of the sofas. They’re going to be here for a while, so Grantaire follows him and takes the seat opposite.

‘What were you doing here, this late?’ Enjolras asks.

Grantaire shrugs. ‘Practicing.’

‘Is that allowed in this building?’

‘They can’t stop you if they don’t know you’re doing it.’

Enjolras purses his lips.

‘Not a fan of breaking rules?’

‘When you’ve got a reason, yes.’

‘So a reason like what?’ He’s being a shit now; he can feel it.

‘If the rule’s wrong.’

‘I mean, this one is. One of us could have a medical emergency.’

Enjolras’s jaw tightens.

‘What were _you_ doing here this late?’ Grantaire continues. ‘I haven’t seen you around before.’

Enjolras looks at the floor before responding. ‘Rehearsing?’

‘What? A monologue? Do you act?’ This is fantastic. He can picture it already; Enjolras as a tragically handsome Hamlet or a love-torn Romeo or –

‘A speech,’ Enjolras says, sounding pained. ‘I’m giving an address next week at an inter-society meeting.’

Of course he is. PPE student who speaks the way he does; he’s probably president of half a dozen societies.

They lapse into silence. Ep’s responded to say she’s on her way, so there’s not much to do apart from wait. Grantaire starts tapping on his leg, and when Enjolras starts giving him looks he upgrades to conjuring marbles. That’s only provocative for a short while, so after another five minutes he sets a marble on fire.

‘ _Jesus_ ,’ Enjolras snaps. ‘What the fuck are you doing that for?’

Grantaire lets it roll around his palm. ‘It’s glass. It’s not really burning.’

‘You’re going to set the fire alarm off.’

‘No, I’m not.’ He closes his hand and reopens it. The flaming marble is gone. ‘Bit old to get caught out by illusions, aren’t you?’

‘Aren’t _you_ a bit old for fire tricks? I thought everybody went through that phase in secondary.’

Fifteen-year-old Grantaire wasn’t much good at fire spells, but Éponine was _excellent_. Well, excellent at casting them, not so much at putting them out. Her hands were almost always burned. Any other parents would have noticed and forced her to stop. Even Grantaire’s weren’t that out of touch.

He’s a lot better at them now. They ran into Montparnasse on bonfire night and that conversation didn’t go well.

‘Some things stick.’ He runs his thumb along his fingers, as if he were clicking them but slower, and a flame appears a couple of inches above them.

‘This one’s real,’ he adds, unnecessarily.

‘So, what, you are revenged upon Mondetour staff by burning the place to the ground? Smart.’

‘It’s under control.’

‘All magic students say that.’

‘Maybe because it is. Look – ’ Grantaire gets up, still carrying the flame. Enjolras automatically rises.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Don’t freak out, it’s fine.’ He flexes his hand, widening his fingers, and the flames grow.

Enjolras steps forward, closing the distance between them, his own hand shooting out. He catches Grantaire by the wrist and cold shoots through Grantaire’s hand, extinguishing the fire.

‘What – ’ Grantaire backs up, and then stops and looks at him. ‘What the hell did you do?’

‘If you’re going to show off, pick a better time and place.’

‘You’ve got magic too?’

‘Just because you have it doesn’t mean you have to use it for everything.’

‘All right. Damn.’ Either Grantaire’s incredibly unobservant or Enjolras is skilled at hiding it, because power is pouring off him now, leaving a coppery taste to the air.

‘I shouldn’t have grabbed you,’ he says.

‘It’s cool.’ The way this evening is going, it’ll probably be the only time they ever touch.

‘Maybe it’s best if we,’ Enjolras gestures to his phone, and Grantaire nods. Best if they don’t talk, when it’s glaringly obvious that they have nothing useful to say to each other.

 

‘Who’s president?’ Grantaire says, ten minutes later.

Enjolras glances up. He’s taken a seat halfway across the common room, but from that look, he’s realizing it’s not a sufficient distance.

‘What?’

‘Of this university. Or headmaster or chancellor or whatever they’re called. I’ve just realised, I don’t know. Been here two damn years and I don’t know.’

There’s another pause.

‘I’m not sure it matters,’ Enjolras says. ‘Whoever it is, they’re not responsible for most of the policy.’

Grantaire twists his neck round to meet Enjolras’s eyes. ‘And you know that because?’

‘I have regular conversations with the administration. Why did you want to know?’

‘I could have subscribed them to that send your enemies glitter thing. If that’s still going. Hey, don’t give me that look; doesn’t that sort of thing count as direct action? Or are you judging me because it’s dated now?’

‘I was going to say that glitter’s terrible for the environment,’ Enjolras says, with a particular dignity. ‘Miniature flecks of plastic in the sea – I don’t have to explain why that’s bad.’

‘Shit.’ Grantaire’s going to have to rethink his party outfits. ‘That sucks. Fucking 2017: possible impending nuclear war and we can’t even wear glitter.’

‘Yup.’

The silence stretches out again.

‘You know,’ Grantaire says, as the thought occurs to him, ‘we _could_ probably get out.’

Enjolras doesn’t look up this time. ‘What?’

‘You’ve clearly got, like, a lot of power,’ Grantaire says. ‘I don’t know how much you practice, but I’m pretty good and – ’

‘No.’

‘The alternative is another twenty minutes at least of this,’ Grantaire reminds him. ‘And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I talk when I’m bored.’

‘We’re staying.’

He’s clearly not going to budge, which is kind of impressive given that Grantaire’s started to annoy himself at this point.

Still bored, he starts conjuring again. Not more fire or anything else likely to cause alarm, but the sort of stuff they did in seminars last year. Plants grow out of the palm of his hand, the root systems blending with his blood vessels. Dappled feathers appear between his fingers, like Wolverine claws. At first he’s hyper conscious of Enjolras watching, but after a few minutes he’s absorbed in the spellwork. He’s never been particularly powerful, but magic’s one of the few things that comes naturally to him.

‘Is it easy?’ Enjolras asks, reading his mind.

‘Magic?’ Grantaire waves his hand, and everything disappears. ‘Yeah, I s’pose.’

He looks over. ‘Isn’t it for you? Amount of firepower you’ve got?’

‘Why d’you keep saying that? Insinuating that I’m powerful – ’

‘I’m not insinuating, I’m saying. And dude, like, it’s obvious.’

Enjolras looks down. ‘How long until your friend gets here?’

‘Fourteen minutes. When’s your speech?’

‘This weekend.’

‘If it helps, don’t take any of this,’ he gestures to himself, ‘personally.’

‘You’re this irritating to everyone you’re locked in with?’

‘It’s just that you’re so easy to wind up.’

Enjolras doesn’t raise his eyebrows, but somehow manages to convey the same effect. ‘You barely know me.’

‘No, but I can tell you’re the sort of guy who would get into passionate arguments at 3 am explaining why Jar Jar Binks is racist.’

He frowns. ‘Is that a _Star Wars_ character?’

The words sink in.

‘Wait,’ Grantaire says, sitting fully upright. ‘You haven’t seen – ’

‘Nope.’

‘Not even the originals?’

‘No.’

‘I mean, I know that there _are_ people who haven’t seen and don’t care about it, but you don’t seem – ’

‘I tried to watch the first one and there was this long desert sequence…’

Grantaire groans. ‘OK, that I can forgive. R2-D2 and C-3PO lost on Tatooine is always boring, but it gets better after that, I swear.’

‘I don’t know,’ Enjolras says. ‘I feel like I’ve given it a chance.’ His mouth quirks up a little bit, and Grantaire cottons on.

‘You shit.’

‘What?’

‘You were fucking with me. As revenge for saying you were easy to wind up.’

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, but he’s still smiling.

‘Have you actually never seen it, or did you invent that?’

‘I haven’t.’

‘Jesus. Do your friends know how much they’ve failed you?’

‘Courfeyrac’s horrified at everything I haven’t seen,’ Enjolras admits. ‘And Combeferre sat me down to watch _Jurassic Park.’_

‘Thank fuck. You liked that, right?’

‘Yes. I mean; it’s not so much a film about dinosaurs as one about capitalist greed and a guy learning to like kids. But the dinosaurs are cool too.’

‘You’re not even annoyed that they’re inaccurate? Velociraptors aren’t anywhere near that big and T-Rexes weren’t from the Jurassic period.’

‘Combeferre said that.’

Grantaire’s about to say something else – about films, or flatmates, he’s not sure yet, but at the end of the hall there’s a clicking noise and the door swings open.

‘Alright, losers.’ Éponine calls.

‘Oh, hey.’ Grantaire gets up. He hasn’t been sitting for long, but his joints hurt anyway. ‘You’re early.’

‘Got lucky with buses.’ She spots Enjolras. ‘You didn’t tell me you had company.’

‘Oh, that’s Enjolras,’ he says, ‘he didn’t appear until after you texted. Enjolras, this is Éponine, my flatmate.’

‘And tonight’s saviour,’ she interjects. ‘I’ve just made the trek back to campus for you, R. The least you can do is buy me a drink.’

‘Are you guys together, then?’ Enjolras asks, getting up too and swinging his rucksack up.

Éponine snorts.

‘She’s extremely gay,’ Grantaire explains. ‘I mean, I’m bi, but she’s not my type.’

‘I’m sorry, it was a hetereonormative assumption,’ Enjolras says, quickly. ‘It was the drink thing.’

‘You’re gay, right?’ Éponine says.

He blinks. ‘Um. Yes.’

‘Most straight people don’t know what heteronormativity is.’ She looks at Grantaire. ‘We going?’

‘Yeah. One sec.’ He grabs his bag, and when she can’t see, conjurs a slip of paper a couple of inches long. It’s not as slick as he would like, but he hasn’t done this for a while.

‘See you around,’ he says, hurrying to the door. As he does so, the paper disappears with a slight wave of his fingers and reappears in Enjolras’s hand.

‘See you,’ Enjolras says, giving no sign that he’s noticed. ‘And thank you, Éponine.’

‘No problem,’ she says. Mercifully, she waits until they’re halfway down the stairs before hissing, ‘who _exactly_ was that?’

‘Literally just a dude I was stuck with,’ Grantaire says. She’ll give him shit if he says anymore, so he keeps it at that.

‘He was gorgeous,’ she says. ‘Like, I’m a lesbian but I’m not an idiot.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

They get to the bottom of the stairs and then they’re outside. After the stuffiness of Mondetour House the air is fantastically clear.

‘You’re coming to Cosette’s gig, right?’ Éponine says, as they start the walk back to the bus stop. ‘Bahorel says he is, but he’s always cancelling at the last minute.’

‘Shit, sorry, I can’t. It’s Saturday, right?’

She gives him a suspicious look. ‘What else are you going to be doing on a Saturday night?’

He shrugs. ‘There’s a speech I want to see.’

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not be indirecting my university after some shenanigans last month where a wing of a building was locked and it wasn't supposed to be. (I wasn't inside it, but some stuff I desperately needed was. And I did get them, but it took a while.)
> 
> I haven't written any ER for a while, due to being extremely busy with second year and also doing a short fiction module, meaning any creative energy I have needs to be given to that.
> 
> As always, come and say hi on [tumblr](http://www.betweentheheavesofstorm.tumblr.com) and if you liked it feel free to comment


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